


Black with a Shot of (B)romance

by Original_Cypher



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Pre-Slash, coffee shop AU, oblivious!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles lives to make Derek's life a) interesting, b) miserable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black with a Shot of (B)romance

Scott should be here.

Stiles fidgets anxiously and tries to push down the sense of doom that is slowly creeping over him. He got out of class to find thirteen missed calls and three voicemails from his best friend saying he needed to see him, sounding increasingly frantic with each one.

And now Stiles is at the rendez-vous point and Scott isn't.

This is what Stiles hates about college. They're having a blast. They're all discovering their own thing and get to explore different universes, but on the other hand, he doesn't have his friends around him at all times. He can't _know_ , for certain, that everyone's okay by just looking around the room. It's not that he's lonely, he's made quick, friendly acquaintances in each course he's taken. But his mom passing away so early imprinted in him the notion that he can lose anybody he loves in the blink of an eye, anytime, without a warning. He keeps this to himself, tries not to bother the gang with it, but it's still there. It's a little bit animal, maybe? Like the visceral ache for his 'pack' all the time? Lydia would probably be able to tell him what the human version of that feeling is. He knows it makes him needy. It's a family thing. It's the reason why he and his dad call each other every night – even though they're not talking about it.

“Stiles, Stiles, _Stiles_!!”

Aforementioned college student whips around just in time to take in Scott barreling towards him at full speed. Man, if he'd ran like that back in high school, he would have made it off the bench. Scott's red faced and wide eyed, wheezing from the exertion. He doubles over and pants, patting his pockets for his inhaler. Reflexively, Stiles pulls the spare one from his bag and hands it over, stomach twisting with worry. “Oh my god, what happened?! Something happened! Oh my god.”

“Yes!” Scott exclaims, once he's caught a breath. He straightens up and shakes Stiles' shoulders. “I'm engaged!”

“What?!” Stiles' brain does a double take, and switches lanes urgently. He lets out a happy, startled laugh. “Buddy, that's awesome!!”

Scott stands before him, swaying from feet to feet, cheeks flushed and beaming at him as if to say 'Look at me, brother. Check out how happy I am.'

Stiles grins and slaps the back of his hand on Scott's chest. “Dude, you never told me you had plans t-...”

“She asked me.” The brunette cuts in.

Stiles blinks. “Allison ask-...” He lets that sink it and make a rapidfire lap around his brain. “Yeah, no. I can't even say I'm surprised.”

“You know what? Me neither,” Scott admits with a fond – bordering on drunk. _Stop it! You're too sweet, I'm getting cavities!_ – smile. “Man, I'm so in love with her.”

Stiles chuckles and knocks their elbows together. “Considering the news, I'm pretty sure that's a good thing.”

Scott looks like he's still reeling, a dreamy, far off look on his face. “Yeah.” Assuming all of his calls were for the same reason, it's been a few hours already. But Stiles guesses, when that _moment_ happens to you, and it goes right, it's legit to ride the high for _days_. He wishes it to his friends.

They stand in the middle of the quad for a while, grinning. Scotty's getting married. Man, maybe this growing up thing isn't so bad. He takes a beat to contemplate. “Aw, man. Congratulations,” he says eventually, pulling his best friend in a hug. "I owe you like a million celebratory frappuccinos."

"I'd settle for just one, right now." Scott suggests as they pull back. “Also, maybe not iced?”

Stiles concedes. The morning chill hasn't passed yet. He could use something sweet and hot himself. His grins stretches. He knows _just_ the place to go. “You got it,” he assures, and proceeds to drag his bff to the best place on campus.

“So.” Scott says, moments later, when they're straggling along the counter at Higher Grounds Cafe, staring at the pastries without seeing them. “Remember that conversation we had when we were eleven...?”

“About-... really?!” Stiles whirls around and produces a trademarked mix between grinning and gapping in surprise. “I get to be your best man?!”

Scott laughs. “Dude. You're like my brother! Who else was I gonna ask?”

Stiles fidgets, shrugging in on himself self consciously. “...Isaac?” He's not jealous. He's not. But he's aware that, with their growing friend circle, he's had to... _share_ , more. The bromance between Scott and the curly blond is as cute as it's undeniable.

“Nah... I love you more, dude,” Scott declares in total simplicity.

It's stupidly heartwarming. Stiles beams back, helpless. Behind the counter, the barista coughs pointedly.

Stiles, ignoring the guy – for now – , grins. "You are so on. I'll give you the night of your life."

"Counting on it,” Scott shoots back. “A deal's a deal.”

“I keep my word, baby.” Stiles winks. He's halfway into turning back to the counter when he brightens. "Man, you know what's best? Our booze can now be bought legally!”

Scott meets him halfway for a fist bump.

“Are you girls going to stand here and gush all day or actually order something? I've got better things to do.”

Scott is taken aback by the barista's, admittedly rude, conversation starter. Stiles, on the other hand, just turns to him and challenges back. “Oh yeah? Like what? It's not like we're holding up a line or anything,” he gestures to the half empty cafe. Probably the reason why the poor guy was wiping the already pristine counter and displays to pass the time. Traffic will pick up the second classes let out, but... for now, it's pretty slow. The _look_ Stiles is getting, if anything, intensifies. Man, he loves banter. “I'll have-...”

“House blend quad white mocha. Double sugar. Extra whipped cream,” the guy recites, glaring with all the might of his eyebrows. “Anything else?”

Aww... Dusting Huffman knows his order. That's adorable. “Seriously?!” Scott hisses at his best friend, staring. They both know he's a vanilla spice kind of guy.

“What? I like it sweet.” Stiles winks at Scott, then goes back to McScowly . “And for this guy a rice latte please. Extra caramel.”

“ _Dude_.”

“What? You want chocolate?”

Scott glances at the barista, who ducks aggressively inquiring eyebrows at him, and shakes his head. AngryDude then stomps off to make their order.

“Stiles. We don't drink that stuff.” Scott points out in hushed tones.

“I know.” Stiles smiles to himself, leaning over the counter to catch a passing glimpse of a fantastic ass, then slides back down. “Just try it. Maybe it'll be awesome,” he replies. “Besides, I just love that guy's face when I mess with him. It's like he's in pain.”

Scott gives him a flat look. “Mhm. His _face_.”

Yeah, and maybe the more complicated the drinks, the longer he has to stay with his back to them. So what?

“You'd figure I would get to call my own 'congratulations on your engagement' coffee, but _noo_...”

The apron is tied at the waist, which is very faltering to that guy's silhouette. But the work shirt is a square cut that leaves Stiles frustrated and wondering. “Oh, pshh... You would have gone with an Americano. That's _boring_.”

“Come on,” Scott tugs at Stiles' arm. And, yeah, okay, fine. He can bug the sexy coffee guy another day – Stiles' pretty sure he _goes_ here, too –, they have _plans_ to... plan. He lets himself be lead to a spot by the window. The good thing about Higher Grounds is that, unless the shop is packed and they put the little sign on the counter saying otherwise, they bring your order to your table. Stiles imagines, during the slow moments of shifts like that, he would do it even if it wasn't store policy, just to stretch his legs. Before he plops down, he turns and calls. “And a double order of pancakes. Heated up, one maple, one caramel, please and thank you very much for your trouble.”

The glare Hot'n'Broody shoots back could set Stiles on fire. He beams back.

“You think I should still buy her a diamond?”

“Hm?” Stiles considers. One thing he's learned during his friendship with Allison and Lydia... never assume. “Ask her.” He feels that's the best option. He also knows that whoever buys Lydia her engagement ring better make sure she chose it. Or else. “Maybe she'll want to buy _you_ one,” he can't help but tease.

“Ha. Very funny.” Scott wrestles out of his coat. “Dude, why did she have to turn things around? I don't know what I'm supposed to do, now!”

Stiles is sure the reason why Allison popped the question isn't because she thought Scott was taking too much time. She's good enough to pull inception-like techniques to make her man believe something was his idea all along. Nah. Proposing is just her style. She wants to be married to Scotty, so she asked him. Simple as that. Stiles only wishes he could be as pragmatic about important matters in life. “Aly's gonna be your wife, man. Talk to her. I'm sure she doesn't expect you to guess.”

While he's hanging his own jacket over the back of his seat, Stiles watches the barista multi task. He restacks cups and pulls a tray to him. Out of sight, he places items on it. Stiles guesses, their drinks. Then he freezes, and looks up, straight into Stiles' eyes. He looks a strange mix of surprised, annoyed and confused at being observed. Stiles isn't sure of what to do with such an expression.

The microwave bings cheerfully.

Glary Cooper unpauses, then and jerks his eyebrows upwards in a 'what?!' face.

Stiles turns back to the table and grins. "Hey Scott. For _my_ bachelor party, I want this tall drink of backwards selling techniques as my personal stripper," he says. Loudly.

He smirks when he hears cutlery clatter against the ground. Victory.

Scott bites his lip on a grin and shakes his head as the poor guy coughs faintly in the background. Scott may like to pretend he thinks Stiles is childish, but he still enjoys the show. "A bit early to think about your b-party, bro. I'd worry about getting a boyfriend first, yeah?"

"Shut up." Stiles groans, and hunches over into his seat. He scuffs his shoe on the floor, discontent. “Rub salt in it, why don't you?”

Scott looks sympathetic. Yeah. Happy people in love wish everybody was like them. He knows he's gonna have to deal with some mothering from Aly, too. “Maybe you're sending the wrong message?”

Wait, that's... “How so?”

Scott shrugs, waves in the direction of the counter. “With the 'liking it sweet' and stuff. Like, maybe it's too cheesy? Or snarky.”

“But I _like_ cheesy.” And wow, that sounded like a whine. Pathetic, much? “And _I am_ snarky and I say stupid shit because I have no filter, but... I mean, it's _me_. I want a guy to like _me_. I can't-... I have to be me, or else-... sorry.” Stiles leans sideways in his seat so that GQ – really, does the guy exist just to make Stiles feel inadequate? Does he have to be _that_... everything? – can deposit the tray on their table. “Thanks,” he says mechanically, instead of coming up with a joke as usual.

“On the house.” Eyebrows says, and wow, he's actually _smiling_. At Scott, but still. Stiles suddenly gets why he doesn't do it all the time. People have to be coherent to order things. “Congratulations.”

“Uh, thanks, man,” Scott says, blinking at the guy with a surprised grin.

Stiles, is, maybe, a bit to stunned by how different the guy sounds when he's not huffing at him, that he forgets about his obligatory comeback until it's way too late.

Scott cradles his cup in his hands like it is the most precious thing in the world and glances at the receipts. “It really is free.”

Stiles smirks to himself. It looks like Scott got a good old regular Americano. And he got double the maple syrup, himself. He groans when he forks in his first bite, and has a thought for his dad. It's reminders like this that make him so very sorry to deprive the Sheriff of this. “See. This is wonderful. It's why I love this place. The service sucks, but the food is as nice as the view.”

Scott snorts and uses his fork to spread the caramel on his own treats. “You're free to stop making porn noises anytime.”

“Hey, so. I know it's soon, but... did you talk dates, yet?”

Scott swallows his mouthful and burns his tongue before answering. “Not specifically, but we said probably this summer? So we won't have to worry about school and finals and stuff? Like, end of summer ish?”

“Hm. I got six months to plan your send off, then.” Evil, evil plans. No tigers, though. “And find a plus one.” It's sad, but he knows himself. There's no way he's big enough not to be bitter if he goes stag. But it sounds lame. Cause it's not like he wants _to find a wedding date_. He'd just... he would just like to be there, not alone.

“You know,” Scott muses, looking somewhere over his shoulder. “I don't think you'll have to look very far.”

Stiles follows his gaze just in time to see the barista practically kick down the door on his furious way into the backroom. “Damn. Someone needs a footrub.” When he turns back, Scott is smirking into his drink. “What?”

“Nothing.” His innocent puppy eyes haven't fooled anyone since they were twelve. But he tries, Stiles will give him that. “Say, buddy, is that a phone number on your receipt?”


End file.
